Ella of Ash
by Elisa865
Summary: A Cinderella story with many twists! Ella is living with her stepmother and stepsisters and is invited to go to the Prince's palace with 50 other girls competing for Prince Scorpio's hand in marriage. I do not own the Selection trilogy!
1. Chapter 1

Dalilah's garden is bright and vibrant, with neon flowers and leaves so green it hurts to look at them. In a lot of ways, it reflects her personality. She is energetic and always wants to be the center of attention. Her closet is the same way: rows and rows of bright pinks, yellows, greens, blues. Her gowns have cutouts in the back and necklines plunging so you can see half of her breasts. Nothing dark or modest at all except for her mourning gown.

She's only used that once.

Andreya's a different story. Her wardrobe consists mainly of pastels and muted colors. I think that she is always slightly embarrassed about how her sister dresses, and tries to make up for it with her more modest style. Andreya's an awful gossip though, and is in a group that got popular by gossiping.

And then there's me.

I'm the youngest in my family. When my father's wife, my mother, died, I was a mere five years old. I don't remember her. Father knew he needed to remarry, and he chose Lady Cileena Clandestine, a wealthy widow whose husband had died and left her a great deal of money. She seemed nice enough. Father landed a job in the Lord of Ash's office, and began to take in money. He began to travel. That's when he got ill. The village doctor said it was probably something he picked up in India. There was nothing to be done. In a matter of days, Father was dead. My stepsisters and I brought out our mourning gowns. I was seven. Andreya was nine and Dalilah was ten.

I'm sixteen now. I've had to endure my stepmother and stepsisters for nine years. They've made me their "housekeeper," and are also renting me out on Mondays and Thursdays to clean and cook for other households.

Stepmother says I'm a real moneymaker.

Dalilah and Andreya are perfectly awful to me. They like to see me suffer, I think. Stepmother's decent to me, but she adores Andreya and Dalilah. She gives them expensive presents, and spoils them to no end. I asked once why Stepmother didn't give me a gown for Christmas when my stepsisters each got three. I was locked in my room for an hour, and told to be grateful for what I've got.

But I haven't got much to be grateful for.


	2. Chapter 2

Stepmother bangs on my bedroom door with a "Wake up, Ella! School!" I moan and roll out of my bed. I dread school. Stepmother always wakes my at six o'clock sharp to prepare breakfast for my stepsisters and do a bit of cleaning. School starts at nine. My stepsisters and I take our carriage. We go to the Ashen Royal Preparatory Academie, which is supposed to train us to be proper ladies. It is a school designed by the Royal Family. When the Prince turns twenty, and is able to choose a bride, he shall do so from the Ashen Royal Preparatory Academie.

After dressing in my uniform, just a grey pleated skirt that goes down to my knees, a white blouse with a navy blue tie (don't forget the corset underneath), and socks that go up to my knees, I start to clean the living room, polishing vases and dusting off pictures and whatnot.

When the clock ticks to half past seven, I begin to make my stepsisters' breakfast: eggs, sunny side up, Belgian waffles, hot cakes, toast and jam, porridge, and tea. After setting this out on the table, and taking some toast for myself, I start on my hair. It's long and dark and curly. It usually takes at least a quarter hour to tame, but I just don't have the energy today. So instead of the usual elaborate braids and twists, I put it in a simple bun and pin down any bumps.

Makeup takes up a large part of my morning. The Academie expects one to arrive with a bucket of makeup on one's face. I wonder every day why, because the Prince has to know what we really look like.

Some girls, like Dalilah, arrive looking like clowns. Not me. I put coverup on my pimples, and light kohl above my eyes. I comb mascara into my lashes.

My Aunt Fria, a dressmaker and designer, taught me that I should always play makeup to my strengths. My eyes are a cold icy blue, so the kohl makes them pop, and my lashes frame them in a most flattering way. I have high cheekbones, so my rouge must make them appear sharp. I neither have full lips nor thin ones. Aunt says, and since I'm pale, I should have something to make my lips shine. When I look in the mirror, I do not see myself.

My stepsisters are waiting in the carriage.

"What took you so long?" says Dalilah imperiously. She looks awful; Dalilah has fair skin and blond hair. Her kohl is colored green to match her eyes, as is her mascara. Her eyebrows are plucked to millimeters.

Clown.

Andreya looks remarkably like her older sister, except her eyes are a light brown instead of green. She smirks.

I curtsy mockingly. "Oh, I'm sorry, m'lady. I was just clearing your breakfast dishes."

Dalilah rolls her eyes. "Just get in the carriage."

I climb in, and sit opposite of my stepsisters. Stepmother waves goodbye from the front window. I pretend not to notice.

The ride to school is uneventful. I look over the mathematics I did for homework last night. Mathematics is the only class I find interesting, other than the Sciences and Politics. French and Latin got dull years ago, when I mastered them, and I've no use for classes like Poise and Speech and Dancing.

My hair is already falling out of its bun. I rearrange a few pins and sit like a lady with my hands folded in my lap.

"Ella," Andreya simpers, "It's so dreadfully hot. Would you get my fan from my bag?"

I stare at her. "Your bag is under your seat, not mine."

"Yes, but it would be an awful inconvenience for me to lean down and grab it. My skirt it terribly tight. It might burst at the slightest provocation."

"You are saying that you're fat?" The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Andreya looks scandalized. "Dalilah! Did you hear? That dirty little witch called me fat!"

Dalilah grabs my arm. Her perfectly painted fingernails dig into my skin. "Apoligize for your lack of tact, Ella."

I force sincerity into my voice. "My dear Andreya, I am so terribly sorry I called you fat. That was tactless and rude. As our waist being about as thick as a sapling, this accusation was groundless. I am sorry of accusing-"

"That's quite enough, Ella, we get the point." Andreya wears a smug smile.

I wrench my arm from Dalilah's hand and stare at the countryside. It's quite beautiful and colorful, for a town called Ash. Not at all grey. Birds fly overhead, and I even think I see a fox sneaking through the underbrush.

As our carriage draws closer to the Academie, the bushes become styled and trimmed into the shapes of animals. I sit up properly, like a lady, and fold my hands again. Although I may despise subjects such as Poise, I must behave like they taught me.

I thank our chauffeur, Mr. Barkley, and am rewarded with a toothless smile and a "See you after school, miss."

Professor Toft, our headmaster, waits beside the great front doors. I think he is stopping the girls from entering the school.

I frown. This is unusual.

A few girls from Hampshire are walking down the lane from the dormitories. Since this is the school where the future queen will come from, many parents have sent their girls here from all over the country. Since they can't go home every night, like my stepsisters and me, the Royal Family decided to build dormitories for the girls to stay.

"Ella!" I hear my name and whirl around, trying to locate the source. When I see her, my face brightens. "Lyndsay!"

Lyndsay Colburn and I have been best friends ever since we met here at the Academie.

I curtsy mockingly. "How do you do?"

She giggles and throws her arms around me in a tight hug. I suppose that, being sixteen, we ought to be more mature than this. Neither one of us cares.

"Honestly, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were five." It's Lyndsay's older sister, Loraleye. The smile drops off Lyndsay's face. Loraleye walks snidely past us to join my stepsisters.

"Oh, you've got new shoes," I say, hoping to distract her from Loraleye, Dalilah, and Andreya sharing beauty tips. Indeed, her shoes are black and shiny, with a small heel.

"Yes, Mother sent them after Father got a pay raise. Aren't they lovely?" She turns her shoes so that I can see them from every angle. I ooh and ahh.

"You've done something new to your hair!" Lyndsay points out.

"Yes," I sigh. "I'm afraid I was feeling a wee bit lazy this morning, and did not feel up to the usual 'do."

We giggle. Proper New British ladies are never lazy.

Professor Toft calls for attention. All the girls waiting outside immediately fall quiet.

"Girls," the Professor begins. "As you know, the Prince's twentieth birthday is exactly a year from yesterday." Yes, we know this, but a torrent of excited murmuring breaks forth anyway. Professor Toft calls for attention again. We fall silent. "We just received word that His Majesty King Orion will be coming tomorrow, accompanied by His Highness Prince Scorpio himself." Some girls, including my stepsisters, shriek, and Professor Toft holds up his hand. "Tomorrow will be out of uniform. The servants will make sure that the school is clean, and I want you girls to be on your best behavior. Understand?"

"Yes, Professor," we chorus.

"Good." The doors open behind him. "Now run along, or you will be late to class."

Lyndsay and I share interests, so we share most classes. Our first class is Poise. We decided that we should get the boring, tedious classes out of the way in the morning.

We are in a class of other sixteen year olds. Madam Barette does role call, and then sits us down. "When the King and Prince come tomorrow," she begins, "he will take ten girls from each age group. The ten prettiest, smartest, most proper British ladies. He will take you to the palace in London, where all fifty of you will train to become England's next queen. The Prince can only choose one."

"Please, Madam," interrupts Serah, a girl from northernmost England. "If we get chosen by His Highness, pray tell, are we permitted to bring along any belongings?"

"You would be leaving in the wee hours of morning, two days time from now. You should have time to pack your things. It's doubtful you'd need them though."

"How shall we know if we get chosen?"

"The Prince will send a letter to your home tomorrow night."

"Will we get to visit home at all?" It's Lyndsay.

"Yes, three times. Once before each ball."

"Ball? As in a dance?"

"Ladies, do stop interrupting me. I am trying to explain it all to you.

"There shall be three balls. They are, in the following order, a Halloween Ball, a Christmas Ball, and a Midsummers Eve Ball. In between the balls, there shall be lessons in etiquette, proper dinner manners, and how to run the kingdom while maintaining your dignity as a wife and mother. Yes, a mother," she adds, when she sees our looks of embarrassment. "It is crucial that you produce at least one, ideally more, heirs to the throne of England."

We spent the rest of class going over proper manners and things Madam says might come in handy at the palace and while trying to impress the Prince. The rest of the school day is the same; we even practice our best manners at supper. In History we review the Fall of the Winsors and Rise of New Britain. In Politics we practice going over the people in the Parliament and what their specific jobs are, and in Mathematics, we go over the money system for the millionth time.

When my stepsisters and I get home, the first words out of Dalilah's mouth are "Mother! My future husband is coming tomorrow!"

Stepmother gasps. "The Prince is coming tomorrow? We must get you girls ready for your big day!"

Andreya glares. "He is not your future husband. He's mine." The girls start bickering.

Stepmother turns to me. "Ella, help my beauties get ready tomorrow."

"Of course, Stepmother."

"You may get yourself ready after my jewels are finished." Stepmother answers my unasked question.

"Of course, Stepmother."


End file.
